The Mouse and the Weasel
by mcpon14
Summary: Jonathan Crane changed his identity so he can get a new job but is still up to no-good. Mary Anne from the Babysitters Club is in it too. The reader sort of need to know Mary Anne pretty well to understand a lot of the things going on in this fanfic.


I sat on the toilet pushing with all my might. The poop would just not budge. It just wouldn't come out.

I thought about a book we had to read for English class, Huckleberry Finn. I pictured Huck and Jim floating down the grand Mississippi River on a raft during a lazy afternoon. The water gently guiding the pair downstream towards whatever may come their way. The smoothness of the glide. The luck of never being disturbed by a bypassing rock. The gentle pushing-along by the easy-going currents. The . . . the . . . .

Oh, this is too slow. I need something faster.

For some reason, I thought of Stacey. She's so cosmopolitan. Since she's from New York. She seemed to be operating at a faster frequency than everybody else in Stoneybrook. More up-tempo. At least from my perspective. Thinking of her led me to Niagara Falls. The downward rush of the waterfall. Being sucked down by gravity. How can you tell? By the amplitude of the crashing water at the bottom. I've never been.

But I sure hope it gets my bowels and canals flowing.

I smile at the wall - eyes gleaming - as if we were sharing a secret in this secluded room as I feel a momentum working its way towards accomplishing my goal.

BLURRRH. I barf.

I look at the vomit splatter on the floor and wall. I didn't immediately try to clean up the mess as quickly as possible which would've been my normal reaction. Instead, I looked at the splatter with a tilted head like a scientist examining a specimen under a microscope.

As I peer at my handiwork, I realize that I had needed to urinate all along. How had I gotten it so wrong?

So then I relaxed the appropriate muscles and peed.

Knock. Knock.

"Mary Anne. What's taking you so long?" It was Dawn.

"Just a sec," I answered as awareness for my surrounding reality set in, and so did an urgency to clean up the vomit. But as I tried to rise up off of the toilet to grab a towel to do so, I couldn't. I was being held down somehow.

"Hurry! I need to use it badly," she pleaded.

"Hold on, Dawn!" I said distractedly as I strove anxiously against restraints that I couldn't see and was curious about being here. I was wrenching against them at this point.

There was a pause as I waited for her response.

Then she began again. "Mary Anne. Remember how the secret passage leads up to your room? Well, there's a split-off route in the tunnel that leads to the bathroom! If you don't come out right now, I'm coming in there and using the toilet whether you're on it or not!"

"No! Wait! Dawn!"

"Okay. Here I go," she said. Then I heard her leave at a run.

"Dawn! Err." I struggled even harder against these binds. I looked down at my chest and stomach then swiveled my head from side to side to examine my arms closer. There was nothing there.

Knock. Knock.

"Mrs. Tate? Mrs. Tate!" a little girl clamored from behind the closed bathroom door. A familiar voice.

It took me a second but then I remembered I was babysitting. I composed myself.

"Don't come in Mary Anne. I'm doing something right now. What do you need?" I asked a little exasperated.

"You need to help me! The cabinet is too high up!" she pleaded.

I searched my memory for a moment then remembered. "Hey. I told you. You can't have those cookies," I explained for what seemed like the umpteenth time.

"But I'm starving!" she whined.

"You'll ruin your dinner," I reasoned calmly.

"But I want just ONNNE!"

I listened the whole time to the echo from "one" until it died down completely. It jolted me when it ended.

I was Mary Anne Spier again.

Resulting thoughts from that experience surfaced prominently in my mind: Why didn't I give myself that cookie? Did I not deserve the cookie? I had plenty of room in my stomach for it AND dinner. Was I being punished? Did I do something bad? Do I need to have another session with Dr. Reese? Suddenly I was shivering all over. I soon identified the reason as being fear. The realization hit me like having an oversized anvil dropped on me. I was overwhelmed and enveloped in it. The more I was sure of being in terror, the more submerged in it I became.

I must've done something horrible.

Suddenly, I was engulfed in an overwhelming disgust with myself. I felt the escalating need to shed this filth layer by layer seeing the source of this terror as stemming from not being able to do so. I felt my sanity slowly seeping away with every passing tick of time. I felt acutely aware of my hair and how free they were laying over my nape and on my shoulders. I desperately needed to put them in braids. I looked around at the bare white walls of this bathroom and a desperation surged rapidly in me to paint them pink with a brush, stroke after alleviating stroke. I pulled with my wrists to yank my hands free in order to jump on those tasks but the shackles were unyielding. The more I struggled, the more they bolted me back. The more they bolted me back, the more the fear intensified.

"Oh good. The second dosage worked. You should see what you did to my loafers with the first," a man's voice asked, infiltrating the wall in front of me. The voice belonged to Dr. Freelin - at least it sounded exactly like his - but I couldn't see him. Kristy, Stacey and I audited a Psychology class at Stoneybrook Community College to sample a taste of the college experience. Dr. Freelin had been our professor.

Hearing his voice out of nowhere triggered a massive panic attack. I then realized how drenched in sweat I was. My mouth felt very dry all of the way down my throat. I felt very dehydrated.

"Where are you?" I demanded blinking hard against the all-encompassing panic. I tried to look around but was too discombobulated.

"Tell me where the video is," he demanded calmly.

"What are you talking about?"

"The video. You and your friends videotape me at Brenner Field. I saw it. I want it."

I vaguely remembered what he was talking about but my mind was too preoccupied with trying to fight off this attack of fright that kept coming in never-ending droves. It was causing me to not be able to retrieve any more information from my memory even though I was trying.

"What are you talking about?" I threw out honestly.

"Yesterday. In the afternoon. You and two of your friends were hiding behind a large rock. You saw me talking to a couple of your classmates. You think you saw something and filmed it. Hmmm?"

I closed my eyes grimacing against the panic attack. Then I let out a quick yell, "Aah!"

"Hm. Who has it? You? Your brown-haired friend? The blonde? Tell me."

Bits and pieces started filtering in as he pointed out Kristy, Stacey and I one by one. Stacey was holding the digital camcorder filming Dr. Freelin in the act of dealing drugs as Kristy and I were the look-outs behind the boulder at Brenner Field. After Dr. Freelin and the buyers left, Kristy pocketed the disc. Then we took separate routes to Claudia's house. Kristy handed it to Claudia. I soon went to the Pikes for a sitting job so I don't know what happened to it after that.

"So . . . here's the deal," his voice broke into my thoughts. "I have the antidote. But we could stay here all night if you want. I'll apply further dosages as needed."

I couldn't help but think about the offer. Then a dilemma occurred to me: The other members of the Babysitters Club probably already handed the disc over to the police so it probably wouldn't matter if I told him what I knew. But still? Should I tell? Would it still be considered a betrayal of my friends? Should I do it anyways?


End file.
